


Cold

by Vamillepudding



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-02 17:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16309820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vamillepudding/pseuds/Vamillepudding
Summary: When Tommy saved Grace from Billy Kimber, what if Kimber demanded a replacement to get the job done?**It’s too late to back out, not if he wants to save face, not if he still wants their deal to stand. Tommy swallows.“Very well” he says hoarsely. Part of him wants to shoot Kimber in the face. Part of him wants  to shoot himself, for agreeing to this. For being in this situation in the first place.





	1. Chapter 1

Tommy is cold. Again. 

It is another one of those days, when not even whiskey can warm him up, where he could be standing in front of a blazing fire, to no avail. 

Not that it matters. The business comes first, comes even before family, let alone something trivial such as personal sensitivities. 

Straightening up, he downs his glass just as John comes in. “Kimber is here” he announces, looking just a tad nervous. They’ll have to have a chat about that. Nervousness has no place in this business – just as not being able to control one’s facial expressions. Tommy marks the topic in his mind to be brought up later, then says: “Thank you, John. Bring him in.” 

And come in he does, Billy Kimber and his men. Just two today, the accountant and a bodyguard. The latter stays at the door, looking menacing. Tommy forces his expression into a relaxed, yet politely questioning, smile. 

“Mr Kimber. What can I do for you today?” 

“About that barmaid of yours” Kimber drawls. Tommy freezes – it’s been a week since Cheltenham, a week since he lied to get Grace out of what is essentially prostitution. She isn’t working today, but if Kimber wants her, he won’t be able to keep her from him forever. Has Kimber figured out the lie? Has he - 

He’s panicking, his thoughts stumbling over themselves in order to be heard. 

_Pull yourself together_.

He does. “Yes?” he asks, tone as dry as ever. Kimber nods to his me, both of whom now lave the room. What is going on? Tommy’s fingers itch to reach for his gun. _Too soon. Too soon_. 

“Well, I believe you promised me two hours. I got one.” 

“The barmaid has-“ 

“The clap. So you said. I still got one hour.” 

“I’ll get you a different girl” Tommy says, allowing the frown to show on his face. They both know that Kimber doesn’t need him to organise a whore. 

“Not another girl I’m interested in” Kimber leers. And that – right. It all makes sense now, the pieces falling together and forming a perfect picture on their own accord. Tommy should have seen this sooner, should have known as soon as Kimber walked in. If the man is implying what he thinks he’s implying – he’s never, not since – the panic is back. Is it noticeable, he wonders absently. Surely it must be, surely his heartbeat is loud enough to be heard. How can he scold John for something he apparently fails at himself? The hypocrisy threatens to choke him. 

“A boy, then.” Maybe that’ll be enough. Maybe- 

“Or” Kimber says, “you could take care of this yourself. Surely you wouldn’t trust someone else with such an important job.” 

It’s too late to back out, not if he wants to save face, not if he still wants their deal to stand. Tommy swallows. 

“Very well” he says hoarsely. Part of him wants to shoot Kimber in the face. Part of him wants  to shoot _himself_ , for agreeing to this. For being in this situation in the first place. 

No point. The job must get done. It _will_ get done. Because he’s Tommy Shelby, doing the work others cannot, doing what needs doing so no one else has to. 

Doing _whom_ needs doing, a treacherous voice whispers. He pushes it back. Can’t think of that now. 

His polite smile has long since been wiped off his face by the time he gets on his knees. Kimber never cared for it anyway.

**

After, it’s just another part of the job. Sometimes, it’s necessary. More often, it’s not, and Tommy hates how grateful he is. 

Arthur and John don’t know, he’s fairly sure. Finn definitely doesn’t. Ada might, were she still living at home, but she’s not, is she, not since she got married. 

Pol knows. 

But then Pol, too, knows that some things need to be done in order to succeed. So she’s never asked Tommy about it, never questioned him. Only one night, when Tommy gets home with a bruise on his face and an obvious wince as he sits down, her lips tighten. The cup of tea she pours him makes a loud noise in the otherwise silent kitchen. Tommy stares at it until she pours whiskey in it. 

“Is it worth it?” she asks, almost aggressively. 

“The deal got made” Tommy tells her. His cup is empty. He refills it, whiskey only this time. 

“Good.” 

They don’t say anything else, but they do sit together for another few hours, drinking whiskey and tea and then whiskey again until the bottle and the pot are both empty, and Tommy feels numb enough to go to sleep. Polly ruffles his hair as he gets up, just like she used to when he was a kid. In that moment, he thinks that he would rather like to assure her that yes, it was worth it. For her, for their family, everything would be worth it.

**

Alfie Solomons is something else. He’s loud, and obnoxious, and clearly insane in a way that even Tommy isn’t. Arthur, he reflects, might get along quite well with the man. 

When Alfie points a gun at him, he isn’t scared. Why should he be? There is one simple trick if someone threatens your life. The trick is to embrace it. If one’s own death wish is fierce enough, then one is bound to live many decades, because life hands you nothing you wish for, not even freedom. Especially not freedom. 

So he waits, and as always, he lives on. 

He tells Alfie Soloms his plan, and Alfie Solomons agrees, just like he knew he would. And then Alfie sends out his employee on the excuse of getting them rum to celebrate, and Tommy thinks, alright, this is it. 

He sits frozen in his seat, waiting for Alfie to make the first move. 

He does. 

“So, mate, I heard something, didn’t I, heard something in the pubs the other day.” 

“I thought you didn’t go to pubs” Tommy replies easily. This, he can do. 

“Besides the point, mate. See, I heard-“ – here Alfie leans forward a little – “-that Tommy Shelby never makes a deal without a backup plan. I heard that Tommy _fucking_ Shelby never makes a deal without already knowing how to kill his ally if required or, indeed, at all possible. So what I’m wondering now is – why should I trust you?” 

Right. Not the usual opening monologue, but then, Alfie isn’t very usual, is he? And Tommy knows how to play this game, has played it before many times. 

He stands up, Alfie’s sharp eyes following his every move. Only a moment before the man will reach for his gun again. 

Tommy only needs a moment to drop to his knees and reach for Alfie’s trousers. 

What happens next goes by so fast that not even Tommy could have stopped it – Alfie grabs his wrist, holding it in a vice-like grip, and a second later, the barrel of a gun is pressed against the side of his head. 

Twice in a day is still pretty good, Tommy thinks absent-mindedly. He’s had worse days. 

“Wanna try explaining what the hell you think you’re doing?” Alfie demands. 

“No” Tommy says. He’s cold again. Suddenly, it seems the most important thing in the world. If he focuses on the cold, maybe he won’t have to focus on anything else. Like the fact that he’s being held at gunpoint, _again_. 

“Well, I’m awfully sorry to break it to you, but you seem to be going off the fucking rails, Thomas. Because I could swear, right, I could fucking swear that you just tried to give me a fucking blowjob, in my fucking office, with my fucking employee about to come back any moment.” 

“Miscalculation” Tommy says. Alfie is still holding his wrist. He’ll have a bruise there by tomorrow. 

His head seemingly turns on its own, without him having anything to consciously do with it. He’s now looking Alfie directly in the eye. They’re staring each other down. 

Then Alfie pockets the gun once more. 

“Get up.” 

Tommy does as he’s told. It’s what he’s good at. He sits back down. 

“Now see, I can’t help asking myself a question, mate. Do you suck all your partners’ cocks, or is it just my lucky day?” 

When he drops his gaze, for once at a loss for words, Alfie lets out a small, ugly chuckle. “Thought so, didn’t I. Right, well now that, my friend, is just fucked up, innit? Just fucked up.” He shakes his head mockingly. “That might be how you do it in that absolute shithole you call your hometown, but not here. Here, see, here you ask a man out for a drink first.” 

Is this a dream? It sure feels like one. Right then, Alfie might as well be speaking Chinese or shouting his message into the fog outside, it wouldn’t make one bit of difference in Tommy’s grasp of what he’s saying. Everything is very far away, his mind shrouded by mist in a way usually only achieved by the sweet bliss opium provides. 

He’s not even cold anymore. But he thinks his nose might be bleeding again. 

Alfie says something else, it might have been a curse, and then the world tips and all thoughts of curses and drinks and blowjobs go straight out of his mind as everything turns black.

**

He wakes up on someone’s couch. Not his own, because for one, he’s not in Birmingham, and also their sofa at home isn’t as nice as this one. 

Waking up in a strange environment is enough to have him reaching for his gun. It’s still there, and so is the knife he always keeps under his belt. Feeling a bit calmer, he surveys his surroundings. It’s living room, but one that doesn’t look much lived-in. There is a clinical air to it, like it’s barely used. 

“Mr Shelby” someone says. Tommy turns, and sure enough, it’s Alfie’s employee – what was his name? Ollie. Ollie doesn’t look very happy; looks, in fact, slightly intimidated. “Mr Solomons said to alert him when you’re awake, and also-“ 

“Out with it.” Shoot him? Knock him unconscious again? 

“Ask if you’d like something to eat.” Ollie offers a smile that’s still not as awkward as Tommy feels right now. “Or drink.” 

“Thank you, Ollie, I’m fine. Go inform Mr Solomons.” 

The young man nods and almost runs into the door on his way out in his eagerness to do his duty – or to get away from Tommy. 

Not much later, Alfie strolls in. 

“Well, look who’s finally awake. Almost thought I’d have to buy a coffin to send your corpse back to Birmingham. Saved me some good money there, mate. I ought to thank you for that, I really do.” 

“You’re welcome” Tommy replies warily. Now that his head is a bit clearer, it’s all coming back to him. Fucking hell, it’s like he’s 19 again, his father having just walked out, leaving behind a whole family no one felt responsible for. Polly stepped in eventually, but at first it was just Tommy. He will forever be thankful to his aunt, but some nights, when he can’t sleep and not even opium can help, he wonders if he’s selfish. Pol never would have had to come back in the first place, if only Tommy had done his job right. 

Right now, it feels like nothing has changed, like he hasn’t learned a fucking thing in the decade that has passed. Still making rookie mistakes, losing control in front of an ally who could quickly turn enemy. 

“While you were resting your pretty head, I’ve made some arrangements with that friend of yours.” 

“Is he still alive?” 

Alfie looks offended. “Of course he’s still alive. See, I figured it’d be best to get you home quickly, before that Italian bastard has the chance to further beat your fucking head in.” 

“You figured that, did you?” 

“I also figured that since you showed an exemplary lack of manners when you fainted right in the middle of our conversation, you might want to be reminded that the invitation for a drink still stands.” 

Tommy can’t help it, he stares. He does that a lot lately, and it’s been driving his family mad, but sometimes he just needs a moment to remind himself that this is it, this is real. 

And apparently here, in the real world, Alfie Solomons just asked him out. 

Isn’t this day just full of surprises? (Tommy has never liked surprises. Too unpredictable.) 

What he doesn’t understand though is _why_. Alfie is smart, and undoubtedly he’s already worked it all out, all the sides of Tommy’s business that are even more unsavoury than usual. The ones that would even disgust his own family if they knew. 

So why is Alfie so nonchalant about it? 

He must interpret Tommy’s silence correctly, because he says: “We all do things we’re not proud of, don’t we, and men like us, well, we just do more of those things than most, mate.” 

Tommy stands up. He wavers, but not much. It’s fine, he’ll have time to heal more on the boat back to Birmingham. 

He holds his hand out. “I’ll see you, Mr Solomons.” And when Alfie doesn’t take it, just continues standing there, staring, Tommy dares to add: “Quite soon, I believe.” 

Alfie’s firm handshake makes something tight uncurl in his chest that he wasn’t previously aware of. When he gets back on the boat, he even allows himself a smile. 

It’s only back home that he realises he’s not as cold anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

If Tommy were a more idealistic man, he might have expected it all to be solved just by Alfie’s presence in his life. 

Since he’s been a cynic even before the war, he never had any such notions, thus is not surprised when it all eventually comes crashing down on him. 

Still, he didn’t expect it to be like _this_. So maybe his father didn’t take _all_ his faith in humanity with him when he left – and right now, Tommy wishes that he had.

Clearly he should have been smarter, should have been _better_ , because when Campbell offers him a deal to release his cousin from prison, all he can think of is that Michael wouldn’t be here in the first place were it not for Tommy. 

He owes it to Polly. So he takes the deal. 

After, once he’s finished vomiting his guts out in the streets, he realises with abrupt clarity that he can’t go home like this. Someone will know, the secret of what he’s done will have gotten out. 

If his family didn’t hate him already, this would surely be the last straw. 

He goes to a pub instead. Not in Small Heath, of course. It’s a pub he’s never been to before, and it’s at the edge of town, which means that no one recognises him.

For the first time in a long time, he pays the full price for his whiskey. And for the four whiskeys that follow. 

Tommy doesn’t know how much time has passed, but it’s still dark outside. Michael will be released in the morning. Maybe, with just a bit of luck, Campbell won’t have told anyone about what they did. 

Even if luck were on his side, it wouldn’t matter. Someone will work it out anyway. Hell, Michael is a smart lad. He’ll work it out himself sooner or later. 

He hasn’t felt this disgusted with himself in a while, not since he met Alfie - 

Alfie. 

An entire new wave of shame overcomes him. He hasn’t even thought of Alfie, not once during the whole ordeal. For a second Tommy entertains the thought of keeping his – lover? Partner? Whatever label fits, it will be obsolete soon – in the dark about this. But quite possibly the only worse thing than what he’s done would be to lie about it, and he doesn’t really need to add another bullet point to the growing list of reasons why he’s going to hell. 

Seeing as he doesn’t believe in hell anyway, maybe he should rename the list, call it List of Reasons Why He Deserves to Be Alone. 

He’s got to talk to Alfie. The man is slightly unhinged on the best of days, and who knows what he would do if a rumour of this got out – no. Alfie would never hurt him, he _knows_ that, but that doesn’t mean Alfie wouldn’t do something else, like walk right into the police station and shoot Campbell in the head. 

No connections and bribes in the world could make him walk free after that. So Tommy has got to do his best to prevent it from happening. And after the crisis is averted, after he’s lost maybe the best thing that’s ever happened to him, he will man up, and go home, and face his family. And he’ll tell them that they can think of him what they like ( _lie_ ), he’s still going to take out Sabini. 

If somehow he doesn’t die during that whole mess, Tommy thinks he would like to get on a horse and leave Birmingham behind for a while. 

It’s a pipe dream of course. His mother’s people may have been travellers, but he was born and bred in the city, like the other Shelby siblings. As much as he sometimes hates the place, he could never leave it, is bound to it by bonds thicker even than blood. Just like he could never leave his family. 

Unless they want him to. 

Tommy downs the next glass. Years of building up a tolerance for alcohol are still not enough to compensate for the amount of liquid he’s consumed in the past few hours, but who cares? 

Alfie might care. And that reminds him of his original intent – speak to Alfie. 

Pity he’s not in London. 

No. Not pity. He’d much prefer having this conversation over the phone. 

He gives the barmaid a sign. She comes over; a lovely young woman with long red hair. In another reality, Tommy thinks he might have taken her to bed. 

“Do you have a telephone?” 

“Yes” she says after a slight pause. 

“I’d like to use it” Tommy tells her. The barmaid frowns, but he’s holding out a coin, using the universal language of persuasion. She takes it, then directs him into a small office. 

“It’s the owner’s, she’s got a phone. You can use it” she says. Tommy waits until she leaves, then dials Alfie’s number – office, not home. Chances are that Alfie will still be at work, despite the late hour. 

Within a number of seconds Alfie’s by now very familiar voice floats down the line. 

“Now, I’m not saying that I’m going to shoot whoever thought it might be a good idea to call me in the middle of the night, but let me just tell you that the longer this call goes on for, the closer a bet it’s going to be, mate.” 

“Alfie” Tommy says, and when Alfie’s word flow dies down for once, he, too, stays silent, not knowing how to continue, just knowing that he needs to relay his sins. 

“Thomas, what a lovely surprise. Am I correct in my assumption that you didn’t call just to let me know how much you missed my presence?” 

This is it, Tommy thinks. 

“I fucked someone else” he says. 

Silence. 

“This – thing – is over. Went on for too long, anyway.” 

Somehow, he appears to have found the cure for Alfie’s constant chatter. Who knew that all it took was to break his heart? 

Well. ‘Break his heart’ might be a bit of an exaggeration. 

“I’ll send one of my brothers for any further business matters that need tending to.” 

In a way, it’s good that Alfie’s not saying anything. Makes it easier. A clean cut. 

Tommy is so sick of himself that he almost can’t bear it. 

“Goodbye, Alfie” he says, and hangs up. 

Now that this is done, he reckons, he might as well drink some more. In the morning it will all be over anyway.

**

Alfie stares at the now silent phone for another moment, then he barks: “Ollie!” 

Ollie comes running immediately, looking slightly out of breath. “Yes, Alfie?” 

“I’ve just made the spontaneous, entirely random decision that I need to get out of London for a bit. Get my car, make sure it’s filled with fuel, make sure it’s all in fucking order, and then make sure that you get back quickly or else I might reconsider your continued employment at this enterprise.” 

Ollie nods, but remains. Alfie looks at him expectantly. “Well?” 

“Uh – where are you going?”

For once, Alfie decides to just answer the question. “Birmingham.”

**

Later, he won’t be able to recall how he got home. But somehow, he makes it back, in the early hours of the morning when the sun is already starting to break through the clouds and bathe Small Heath in a rare fit of light and good weather. It’s going to be a lovely day. 

His family is waiting for him in the kitchen. They’re all there, Polly, John, Ada. Only Finn must be in bed, and Michael and Arthur… 

Polly is the first to react to her nephew’s presence. She gets up, and then suddenly Tommy’s cheek stings. Belatedly he realises that she’s slapped him. 

“Some days I regret that I ever came back to take care of you all” she says, tears in her eyes. Her hand goes up to hit him again, but John catches it, forces it down, then holds her tight. Tommy just stands there, watching the scene spread out before him as though he’s not really there, an invisible and not particularly interested audience. 

“Well?” John asks now. “What’s the plan? You have one, right, Tommy?” 

That unwavering faith John still has in him is like a knife made of love and guilt. They all had that faith in him, once upon a time. 

John and Finn are the only ones who haven’t grown out of it yet. Once Michael walks free, John at least will have done that final, mental step in becoming a man.  Everyone needs a role model to disillusion. 

“I have a plan” he says – slurs, rather. 

“He’s drunk” Ada says, sounding like she’s absolutely done with all of his bullshit, again. Too bad that she’s already walked out on the family once, he thinks. The second time is never as dramatic. “Tommy, you’re drunk.” 

“Tommy?” John asks. Already Tommy can see a bit of confidence leaving his little brother’s eyes. 

“It’s no use.” Polly has regained her composure; if her gaze could kill, Tommy would have been dead the moment he walked in. “He clearly reconsidered his loyalty to this family when he allowed his own brother and cousin to be arrested.” 

Through the haze of alcohol, Tommy tries to tell them the most important thing. 

“Michael” he starts, then tries again: “Michael will be re- relea- freed in a couple of hours. You should go get him from the station, Pol.” 

They stare at him, but he doesn’t care. One more message to get out before he can give in to the whiskey pulling him under completely. “Arthur’ll get out too” he tells them. “I have a, a plan. It’ll be fine.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he can see Polly straighten up. 

“What did you do?” she demands. “Did you bribe that inspector? Tommy, what did you do?” 

He doesn’t look at anyone as he leaves the room to finally go to bed. As soon as the kitchen door falls shut behind him, voices are rising from behind it. Later, he will care, but right now he’s only too glad to just collapse onto the mattress.

**

Tommy opens his eyes and immediately wishes he hadn’t. It’s too bright, and as always there is a fight going on somewhere in the house, and yes, he’s had hangovers before, but they’re usually so far and few in between that he keeps forgetting how bad they are. 

“They told me what you did” Michael (when did he get here? How late is it?) says. He has the good sense to say it quietly, but it makes Tommy wince regardless. Then the impact of what his cousin just told him sinks in, and his next wince isn’t entirely headache-related. 

“Did they.” 

“They thought it was funny.” 

Tommy keeps his eyes closed and waits for Michael to go away. 

“Why didn’t you get Arthur out?”

_(“Arthur?” he asks at one point, just as Campbell is removing his belt. Campbell shakes his head.  
_

_“Just the boy. Arthur Shelby more than deserves to be exactly where he is, don’t you agree?” Tommy didn’t expect otherwise – there is no way the copper would let go of all his leverage. But part of him will forever wonder if there is anything more of himself he could have offered up, so that Arthur, too, could have been part of the agreement.)  
_

“What do you want?” Tommy asks in lieu of an answer. He can feel Michael’s gaze on him, and wonders what his cousin sees, which observations are being made and which conclusions formed. 

“Mum was wrong.” 

“And why is that?” 

“You _do_ make sacrifices for this family.” 

“Michael” Tommy says, very tired all of a sudden. “She’s always known.” 

Polly, he’s thought to himself more than once, is more like him than either of them would ever acknowledge.

**

Once he’s certain he won’t get nauseous just by standing up, he gets out of bed and goes downstairs to make himself a cuppa. 

And there are Polly and Alfie, drinking tea and chatting, like this is the most normal occurrence in the world, like they do this every day. 

Tommy stops dead in his tracks, and for one brief second, he feels like an intruder, even though it’s his kitchen, too, he _lives_ here for fuck’s sake – and yet, he worries that he’ll somehow upset them with his presence. 

Then Polly spots him and waves, so he has no choice but to join them at the table. He sits and lights himself a cigarette, so he won’t have to look at Alfie. 

What is he doing here? 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, eyes fixed on the smoke he’s producing. 

“Is that any way to greet a guest, Thomas? Hasn’t your aunt taught you better than that?” Alfie points at Polly, who for some unfathomable reason just smiles indulgently instead of cutting off his finger. 

“Pol, could you leave us alone, please?” He can only deal with one person at a time right now. Polly and Alfie are both people who demand attention, and he’s afraid that together, he won’t stand a chance. 

Miraculously, Polly does leave – and just as she walks past him, her hand finds his hair, lightly resting on the top of his head for a second. It’s forgiveness, he knows. What he doesn’t know is why.

Someone snipping their fingers right in front of his face brings him back into reality. 

“Zoning out is not gonna get you out of this conversation, mate. Not that it’s ever a good idea – one time I zoned out and the next thing I knew, the bloke I’d been talking to was lying dead on the floor and my favourite shoes were splattered with blood. Bad thing, that. Bad thing. You know what’s also a bad thing?” It’s situations like this one when Tommy asks himself if Alfie’s rambling is as random as he makes it seem, or if it’s always planned out, a carefully laid trap that can spring shut at any moment. 

Alfie smiles; it’s an awful thing. Tommy suddenly feels sick again, and it’s not just because of the hangover. “Another bad thing is when you get a phone call, right, in the middle of the night, and your boyfriend” – what? – “just fucking lies to your face, eh? Or not face. Ear, if you will.” 

Alfie didn’t believe him. Right. That’s just - 

if he didn’t believe him, then Tommy will have to tell him again, and - 

that - 

he can’t - 

“I wasn’t lying” he blurts out. His ears are ringing; he’s well on his way to a panic attack. When did he become such a fucking mess? “I let him fuck me. I’m sorry.”

This is why he needs to leave this family sooner rather than later. If he can’t even take one goddamn confrontation without panicking - 

_breathe_

why isn’t he getting enough air? 

_breathe_

\- he can’t even breathe right, can’t even do that much, what the hell is _wrong_ with him - 

“Fucking breathe, for fuck’s sake” Alfie tells him, and then suddenly, he does.

**

“Now let’s get the facts straight.” 

They’re still in the kitchen. Just a few minutes ago, John came in, and Alfie kicked him out, and then told him to inform everyone that no one else should bother them, either. Possibly John suspected that Alfie was about to shoot Tommy, but upon Tommy’s nod, he did as he was told. 

Tommy would like to light another cigarette or pour a whiskey for this talk, but he does neither. Just sits there, and looks at Alfie, who looks back with a sense of calm Tommy envies. 

“If I was going to leave you, I’d have already left. If I was going to shoot you, you’d be dead. And if you thought that I would just listen to your bullshit over the phone and wish you a nice life, no questions asked, well, then you thought bloody wrong, didn’t you? So why don’t we try this again, and this time, instead of apologising, you give me a little more detail.” 

When Tommy doesn’t reply, Alfie only shrugs, unfazed, like he’s expected this. “Right, then I’ll tell you what _I_ think happened. Feel free to interrupt me at any time you feel like you want to take over, add something, maybe congratulate me on what a fucking brilliant detective I am – because, see, _I_ think that _you_ are the reason the door was opened by that slimy cousin of yours when I arrived.

I furthermore think that you, my friend, have some seriously fucked up priorities as well as some fucking misconception about what this loveable band of merry misfits you call family thinks you, their arguable leader and babysitter, are good for.” 

In these past few months, Tommy has mastered the art of untangling the string of random musings that comes out of Alfie’s mouth, and putting it back together in a more sensible order that just leaves him with the core of what Alfie is trying to say. 

Right now, this skill fails him. 

“I-“ he starts, only to shut up again when Alfie lightly hits him with his cane. 

“Quiet, Thomas, I’m still talking. See, I also believe that the moment your law-abiding inspector Campbell even thought about laying a hand on you, he clearly expressed some sort of immediate death wish, didn’t he? So I, kind human being that I am, am just going to help him with that, out of the goodness of my heart.” 

“You can’t” Tommy says – isn’t this what he was afraid of, what he was trying to prevent? Alfie doing something stupid? Tommy couldn’t even do this much right. His father would have smacked him for thinking he could succeed in the first place. 

_Screw his father_. 

“You can’t” he repeats, louder. “It was – consensual. He didn’t force me.” 

Alfie blinks. “If there is a single person in this fucking world who can force you to do anything, they have yet to be found.” He takes a sip of tea, then abruptly throws the cup against the wall where it shatters.

“I knew this woman, right” he then says, completely calm once more. Tommy wonders if the next cup will be thrown at him instead. “Some relative, who can tell how exactly we were related, it all goes back to fucking Adam and Eve anyway, eh? She had two kids, a little girl and a little boy. One day, right, the girl gets ill, and her mum can’t afford the medicine. So she goes on the streets to earn the money, and the first guy she finds, right, well, he fucking stabs her, doesn’t he? So there she is, bleeding out on the pavement, and the little girl is still ill, and she’ll never get that medicine now because her mum is fucking dead.” 

“Not how I expected this story to end” Tommy says, lips curving into a smile despite himself. This is good, he thinks. This is what he thought he would never have again. 

“Happy endings don’t exist, I’d think you knew this by now. But you know what you should also know? That woman, right, the protagonist of my little story, that woman did not have a choice. No one forced her to do what she did, but her girl was ill, so she did what she had to. And none of this means that the bastard who shanked her didn’t deserve to get his fucking testicles chopped off.”

Tommy doesn’t miss the use of the past tense, but files it away for later. He gets what Alfie is trying to say. Now all he has to do is to make Alfie understand, too. 

“I will always do this” he says. “Do you get that? If it aids my cause, I will. I once swore to myself that I wouldn’t let anything get in the way of business. That goes for this, too. Can you live with that?” 

It’s the question all of this has been leading up to. Some nights, Tommy isn’t sure he can live with it himself. And maybe one day, he will stop fully. 

Maybe. 

If only the _business comes first_ mantra weren’t so deeply ingrained in his head. But it is, and it’s too late to do anything about it. 

He’s still worried about what his family – Arthur, John, Ada, Finn – are going to think. Even if Michael didn’t tell them, they will find out. 

Right now though, Alfie’s answer is the one that matters most. 

Alfie, as always, defies expectations.

**

Later, a man named Chester Campbell disappears. No one asks questions, and the matter gets dropped. Life goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think !

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for this fandom. Please tell me what you think ! Also, would anyone like to see a sequel? I might turn this into a bigger series.


End file.
